


I Bee-Lieve in a Thing Called Love

by BlazeEBlake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beekeeper Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Club Owner Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Poor Sam Winchester, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeEBlake/pseuds/BlazeEBlake
Summary: When a gay club opens up across the street from Dean's garage, he soon finds himself dumbstruck by its handsome owner, and at a total loss as to what to do about it.Inspired by this Tumblr post: http://ibelieveinthelittletreetopper.tumblr.com/post/168165050028/yetanothercriminalmindsfanatic-septembriseur





	1. Bee Still My Heart

The club hadn’t been open even a week when the strange delivery showed up. Strange because it didn’t appear to be anything like the glittering floor tiles and dark leather booths that had come in a month ago, or the food and alcohol that was carted in the day before. Dean wasn’t sure what any of it was in the slightest, and had by now spent far too long speculating on the purpose of the boxes, racks, and screens as he watched them being delivered across the street from his auto body shop.  
  
“Hey man,” he heard Ash start somewhere behind him, “No one would bat an eye if you took a trip over there, just to check things out.  
  
"Huh?” Dean replied, turning halfway back toward the garage.  
  
“Just saying,” the tech called back, “Pretty sure everyone on the block’s done at least a walk by at this point, even Mrs. Tran from the bank.” It was true enough. The city wasn’t so small or backward that a gay club opening up in the vacant building of a long-shuttered fusion restaurant was taboo or outrageous, but it was the first of its kind for miles and the main drag of Lawrence’s downtown scene was practically vibrating with curiosity. Dean was no exception, but he had yet to work up a satisfactory excuse, or more accurately the nerve, to take a closer look himself. It wasn’t that he was a total closet case, not these days anyway. The important people– Sam, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie– all knew about that he was about as straight as a crooked mile, and he was positive others like Ash had more than an inkling of the truth. That said, it hadn’t been all that long ago that he had truly opened up about his preference for both genders, and a full on club catering to the less traveled half of orientation was still a bit daunting.  
  
“Eh” Dean replied with a shrug, stepping back toward the car that he’d been working under, “Not really my thing.”  
  
“You’d never know,” his mulleted co-worker countered from the computer at his workstation, “by the way you’ve been staring I mean.”  
  
“Pfft,” he protested, kneeling to seat himself back on the creeper, “I wasn’t looking at the club, I was trying to figure out what’s up with all that weird junk he was having delivered.”  
  
“It’s the beginning of what I hope will be an apiary,” a deep, rumbling voice explained. Dean’s attention shot back to the shop’s open bay door and he found himself staring up at a man with a stubble-flecked jaw, hair that looked practically sex tousled, and eyes far bluer than made earthly sense. The tight white t-shirt and dark-washed jeans that hugged his biceps and thighs respectively were also captivating in their own way, and did nothing to stop Dean’s mouth from going dry.  
  
“I, um, what?” he managed to stammer out intelligently, rising back to his feet.  
  
“An apiary,” the man repeated patiently, “For beekeeping?”  
  
“In-inside the club?” Dean asked, eyes wide with concern. The man squinted and gave the faintest smirk.  
  
“That would be dangerous and impractical for humans and bees alike, he explained, "No, it’s all being built up on the roof, which is actually what brings me here. My bees are being transported here this Friday and I appear to be lacking the proper tools to complete the assembly of their hives. Might I impose upon you?” Dean stared at him for a beat, partway lost in the man’s oddly polite speech and the alluring quirk of his pink lips, before blinking away some of his awe.  
  
“Tools” he repeated, “You need t-to borrow some?” As outwardly inarticulate as he currently found himself, he was tossing around a healthy variation of four-letter vocabulary to admonish his behavior on the inside. Obviously this wasn’t the first attractive man he’d come across, but clearly something about this one had him short circuiting to an embarrassing degree.  
  
“Yes,” the object of his stupor said, “I know that you and I don’t– Oh! Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Castiel Novak. I own the club across the street.” He extended a hand and Dean forced himself to stride forward and take hold of it with his best estimation of a normal smile.  
  
“Dean,” he returned evenly enough, “Winchester. I own– -well I mean partially own with Bobby– As in Bobby Singer, like the name on the –”  
  
“I’m Ash!” the other man interrupted mercifully, “You know what kind of stuff you’re gonna need?”  
  
“Come to think of it, no,” Castiel admitted, “I suppose I should have taken better stock of that before I came over. Chalk it up to excitement.” He dropped the handshake but held their shared gaze, and for a split second Dean could have sworn the club owner’s too-blue eyes twinkled.  
  
“No worries,” Ash continued, “Dean here can pack up a few things and take em over to have a look for himself. Should be a cinch for him to figure out what’ll get the job done.”  
  
“Excellent,” Castiel beamed, “We don’t open up until late tonight, so I’ll let you in around back.” With that, he raised his hand in farewell and turned to make his way back across the street. Dean heard Ash barely stifle a snort and a tiny thread of annoyance tugged him closer to some semblance of sense, in spite of the more than pleasant sight of Castiel’s retreating backside. Rolling his eyes at both himself and his undoubtedly smug friend, he whirled back to the vehicle he’d continued to neglect and quickly snatched up the tools abandoned beside it.  
  
“Guess you’re headed over there after all,” Ash mused, and Dean could hear the grin in his voice.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be reinstalling a navigation system in that Lincoln?” he shot back, tossing what he’d picked up into his tool bag, “I mean, that’s what we pay you the big bucks for right? All that new fangled techy crap and not busting my chops?”  
  
“New fangled?” Ash echoed, “Bustin’ chops? Here’s hoping Castiel’s a fan of old-fashioned tv dad lingo.”  
  
“Just–you–shut up.” Before Ash could jump on this pitiable comeback, he zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, and stalked off toward Castiel’s club, Profound.  
  
“Don’t forget!” Ash called playfully, “ You gotta use the backdoor.” Dean pressed his lips together and let the parting swipe pass unchecked, instead focusing on safely crossing the street and contemplating all the ways he absolutely was not going to continue to embarrass himself in front of his new acquaintance. The way his heart rate kept ratcheting up the closer he came to the club told him in no uncertain terms that he was already doomed.

Profound was situated between a cafe and a day spa, with a set of alleys breaking up the otherwise continuous stretch of brick and mortar. Dean had seen enough of the weekly comings and goings to know that most of the deliveries disappeared down the club’s left hand side, so that was where he steered himself, ultimately arriving at a set of metal doors.

“Lock it up, Winchester,” he grumbled, readjusting the bag on his shoulder and knocking on the shuttered entrance. After a few seconds, one of the doors opened and Castiel stepped into view.

“Hello, Dean,” he said warmly, “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”

“Yeah, and completely out of my way too,” he deadpanned, in a weak attempt to steady himself. Castiel tilted his head and narrowed his eyes contemplatively before understanding dawned on his face in the form of an amused grin that just about demolished all of Dean's mental preparations.

“Sorry,” the man said, ducking his head bashfully, “I tend to take things far more literally than I should. ‘Slow on the uptake’ my brother calls it.”

“Ah, forget about it,” he replied with a far too emphatic nod, “it was, uh, a dumb joke anyway.” Castiel lifted his eyes, his expression all at once soft and grateful, and it was all Dean could do to stop his on stare from lingering too long.

“Uh,” continued with no small measure of effort, “You wanna show me to where I can be useful?”

“Of course,” Castiel said, backing away from the threshold with a nod, “Follow me.” Dean did as he was told, allowing the club owner to guide him through a short hallway, up a series of stairs, and through another, heavier door that brought them to the roof. It was a fairly empty expanse, save for a set of metal pipes poking through the concrete, and he was able to spot the what needed building right away. Without another word or opportunity for further awkward staring, he made a beeline for the collection of equipment, setting down his tools when he reached it to take stock of what he would be working with.

“Looks pretty straightforward,” he concluded as Castiel came to stand beside him, “Most of it’ll fit together on its own.”

“Well that's a relief,” the other man said, tone more matter of fact than comforted, “I was worried it would be more labor intensive than I had a right to ask.”

“No way,” he scoffed, “'tween the two of us, we’ll be able to knock this out in no time. You get the puzzle piece stuff, I’ll handle the rest, alright?”

“I think I can manage that, leave all the screwing to you.” Dean caught himself choking fast enough to pass it of as a sudden fit of coughing while each of them knelt to set upon their respective shares of the work. If he hadn't already had a decent enough preview of the man's formal demeanor he would have thought he was messing with him.

“Have you worked as a mechanic long?” Castiel queried companionably.

“Almost my whole life,” Dean replied, finding it far easier to communicate while his eyes were otherwise occupied tightening the base of the structure into place, “About as long as I've known Bobby. Things weren't exactly what I'd call easy growing up for me and my brother, but we both had our ways of getting through it. He hit the books pretty hard and I started getting my hands dirty in a salvage yard as soon as the old man would let me. With mechanical stuff, there's always an answer, a clear cut reason for the problems, ya know? It can get messy but--.”

“Not the way real life does,” Castiel finished, notching several planks together.

“Exactly.” He waited for what almost always came when he hinted at the gory details of his past, fumbling questions born more of  heedless curiosity than of actual concern.

But instead of further probing, the other man allowed an easy enough silence to lapse between them while they finished orienting the apiary’s raw materials.

“What about you?” he ventured, feeling emboldened, “You been in the club business long? Or is it just a side gig until this bee stuff really gets buzzin’?” He flinched reflexively at the horrible quip he'd let slip, biting his treacherous tongue. So much for getting his footing.

“Not at all,” Castiel replied, either ignoring or missing the line altogether, “The club scene is entirely new to me and the bees are a passion project of mine. Although, if I had my way, the beekeeping would be the only project, maybe some related gardening to supplement it. Help me line these up?” He gestured between a pair of complete boxes now filled with rows of mesh slats and the stand Dean had just finished securing.

“Sure,” Dean huffed, standing to assist with this next step “You don’t? Have your way I mean?”

“Caring for various personal flora and fauna isn’t all that lucrative,” Castiel elaborated as they stacked the crates together.

“As in you need a day job,” he returned, “or night job in this case. Pretty big job just to pay the bills.”

“I don't want to give you the wrong impression. Getting Profound up and running has been infinitely more pleasurable than my previous line of work.”

“Which was?”

“Accounting. My expertise with numbers is a large part of why my brother asked me to partner with him on this venture.”

“Partner, huh? And here I was thinking you were the head honcho.”

“Partial honcho. Half at best. My predilections aside, I doubt I could have come up with anything as extravagant as what's downstairs.” For the first time in probably his entire life the word 'predilection’ piqued Dean's interest, and banished the doubt that had begun coiling in his gut when Castiel had revealed himself to be the club's bookkeeper. He still had yet to master anything but the most overt signals when it came to men and Castiel was absolutely no exception. Being the sole proprietor of a gay club had been a decent sized sign, right up until that was no longer exactly the case, at which point he had little to nothing to go on. That said, the dark haired man’s strange choice in vocabulary had returned certain possibilities to the table. Not that Dean was looking into possibilities or anything, but it wasn't a bad thing to have a clear picture of his new, devastatingly handsome neighbor.

“So you’re the numbers guy” Dean said, “And your brother…?”

“He’s… Well, let’s just say he’s far more concerned with conceptual execution and image than he is with finances.”

“I can see that, you being the sensible type, if first impressions count for anything. I mean, no offense.”

“None taken. For what it’s worth, all my sensibility wasn't doing much before before I came out here. I was stuck in a job my family respected but I hated, and Gabriel--my brother--was in need of assistance in getting this latest venture off the ground. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about opening the club in Kansas of all places, but thus far Lawrence has surpassed my expectations-- no offense.” 

Dean shot him a wry smirk as he took up what appeared to be the roof of the tower. “None taken. Glad us small towners didn't disappoint.”

“They certainly did not.” Castiel turned to regard him expectantly, and his brain sputtered to a halt like an old engine.

“Dean?” he asked, stepping closer into his space.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, swallowing roughly.

“The roof piece?” he pressed, “The one in your hands?”

“Wha-- Oh right.” He handed final component to him, fighting the furious blush threatening to darken his face. Again, Castiel seemed to miss his complete mortification in favor of focusing on the task at hand and laying the finishing touches on his beehives.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire their handiwork, “Perfect.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, with a sniff of recovery, “We make a solid team, Cas.”

“Cas?” he repeated. Dean blanched, mentally kicking himself yet again for speaking without thinking.

“Sorry,” he blurted, blush surging back with a vengeance as he forced himself to face the other man, “It's a thing-- I do that. The nicknames thing. I wasn't--”

“It’s quite alright,” Castiel interrupted quickly, “I… I like it. Actually, I--

“Ahem,” an amused voice called out, and Dean was startled into breaking eye contact with Castiel in favor of finding the source of the interruption. A shorter man with brown hair was practically swaggering toward them from the rooftop door, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“What's the haps, Cassie?” he asked, nudging the other man with an elbow, “I wake up all early--”

“It's nearly four in the afternoon,” Castiel supplied, somewhat impatiently.

“So early,” he went on, undeterred, “to check up on my kid brother and casa de bees, only to find both in the hands of outside help, and from a stranger no less.” Castiel rolled his eyes, heaving his whole body in the process.

“Gabriel,” Castiel sighed, an edge in his already scratchy voice, “Dean. Dean, Gabriel.”

“Right,” Dean said, carefully setting down the box and offering his hand, “the brother.”

“One of them,” Castiel added, “I have several.”

“But certainly none more awesome than me,” Gabriel finished, accepting the handshake, “So, Dean-o, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“I'm actually from right across the street,” Dean explained, “At Singer's auto body? Cas needed some help with his set up so, uh, I helped.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow at his brother, and a strange look that Dean couldn't quite define passed between them before he released Dean's hand and surveyed the finished product.

“Well, looks like you two got the job done well enough,” he observed, “No adult supervision necessary.”

“Not that you would fit the requirements of that position,” Castiel murmured.

“Now, now,” Gabriel chastised, “Not in front of the guest. Hey! Speaking of hospitality, how about a drink on me, Mr. Mechanic?”

“Again, barely four in the afternoon.”

“Too early, too late, yeesh, pick one.”

“Actually,” Dean cut in, sensing a full blown sibling squabble, “I oughtta get going. If I leave him alone too long, Ash starts to go a little overboard with the tech upgrades. But, uh, I’ll see you both around.”

“My apologies,” Castiel said, “I didn’t mean to keep you longer than you could afford.”

“Nah, man, nothing like that,” he insisted hefting his tool bag back over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t have come by if I didn’t have the time. Just, ya know, duty calls and all that.”

“Of course. Thank you very much for your assistance.”

“Anytime, Cas.” He offered what he hoped wasn’t too dopey of a parting grin and started toward the exit at the far end of the roof.

He was about halfway there when he heard an odd shuffling behind him, followed by what sounded like a kind of admonishing hiss.

“Dean!” Castiel called out.

“Yeah?” he asked, stomach doing an odd little flip as he turned back toward the blue eyed half of the siblings.

“I… I was thinking” he faltered, brow knitting, “... Of starting a garden up here-- For the bees. Maybe you could help me with that as well?” If Dean wasn’t certain that wishful thinking was a decent sized factor at that very moment, he would have thought that Castiel looked almost as disappointed as he felt.

“Sure, Cas,” he replied, “Like, I said, anytime.” Castiel gave him a tight-lipped smile and Dean turned away again, shoving down the strange sense of unfulfillment threatening to envelop him. So things hadn’t gone the way of so many chick flicks that he most certainly had not watched, at least he hadn’t made a total buffoon of himself in front of the hot guy who’d gotten him more than a little flustered. More than that, it wasn’t like he’d had any real expectations, or that he even had a shot with Castiel to begin with.

  


* * *

 

“Are you shitting me?” Gabriel exclaimed after Dean disappeared through the door.

“Gabriel,” Castiel cautioned, keeping his back to his brother as he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

“I mean,” he continued, “How do you set yourself up so well, only to flame out so hopelessly?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh no, Mr. Helpless? You were building apiaries with Uncle Cain before you were out of short pants, so clearly this was a ruse to get that foxy grease-monkey all to yourself, and you blew it. Or, ya know, didn’t.” Castiel whirled to face him with an agitated sigh.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “acquiring his help did have the added benefit of becoming better acquainted but I did in fact have a need for tools, and I had no untoward intentions.”

“Yak, yak, yakktiy yak,” Gabriel snarked, “All I’m hearing is ‘excuse, excuse, I’ve got the hots for Dean and don’t know how to talk like a person about it.’”

“Thank you,” Castiel shot back, “As always, your compassion is astounding.” Gabriel drew back with false indignation and he brushed past him to give the assembled apiary a final once over. It was true that his years of beekeeping experience combined with a trip to the hardware store for a screwdriver would have negated any need for outside help, and maybe his low tolerance for his brother’s jibes had something to do with how accurate his interpretations of his motives had been. That didn’t make his commentary any less annoying or unwelcome, nor did it offer any way to regain the opportunity he had just squandered. He had plotted things out so well in his head, finding an excuse to be alone with the handsome man he’d taken notice of weeks ago, learning enough about him to see if friendship and maybe something more were an option. Apparently the execution of his plans was easier imagined than done.

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel resumed, laying a hand on his shoulder, “As much as I like laughing at your pain, I also know what a bore you can be when you mope.”

“You are so, so very kind,” Castiel grumbled, ignoring the perfunctory gesture of sympathy in favor of examining the interior arrangement of the brood box he had put together.

“That I am,” he agreed, “Which is why, before you can get all wrapped up in the honey factory--”

“Honey is by far not my only reason for catering to these fascinating insects.”

“Snore. Anyway, I’m gonna help you, baby bro. Now, it’s gonna take a little time since both of you appear to be hopeless, but trust me, it’ll be worth it. At the end of the day, much like your bee stuff, it’s all about building the right environment.”

 


	2. Bee There Or Bee Square

“We are absolutely going,” Charlie declared from her perch on the counter at the edge of Dean's work bay. He pretended to ignore her and continued fiddling with the four-door clunker he was wheeled beneath. He didn't have to see her to know she was holding the flier that he had found tucked into the shop’s security gate when he opened up that morning, the one advertising a special event at the club across the street.

“I mean,” she went on, “For starters, the name is killer. ‘Bee Fierce Friday? Excellent use of puns _and_ gay vocab. Secondly? You have put off going way too long and this has your dreamy neighbor written all over it.”

“I knew I should've thrown that stupid poster away,” he grumbled, rolling himself free of the car.

“Probably,” Charlie agreed dropping the offending piece of paper into her lap, “And you definitely shouldn’t have unloaded all your boy drama if you thought I would just let it go.”

“My mistake for trying to catch up after not seeing you for how long?” he threw back with wave of his hand, “And I do not have boy drama. It’s just…” He trailed off, at a loss for how exactly to define the situation with Castiel. It had been nearly two weeks since he had helped the man build his apiary, and while they had exchanged waves and a few pleasantries in passing, nothing had progressed beyond that. He would have been content to let it go and assume that his attraction was one-sided, were it not for the fact that it seemed like Castiel had been on the verge of saying or asking something prior to his brother’s intrusion, something that kept his stupid hopes from completely deflating. That said, in all this time he had yet to work up the nerve to see if all of that hope wasn’t as misguided as it had been when he’d spilled his guts to his visiting best friend in search of a little sympathy.

“I’ve only been gone a few months,” she argued, “And you’re right, it isn’t drama. Drama would imply something was happening at all. But, not to worry. Your Queen is here to rescue her loyal handmaiden from this dreaded dryspell.”

“Huh, tempting,” he grunted, snatching a rag from the floor beside him and hoisting himself up to standing, “Only this isn’t Moondor and I’m not your handmaiden. I’m a busy mechanic who’s--

“And I quote ‘about to be finished for the day and up for whatever,’” she finished, tapping the screen of the phone beside her, “And this is the whatever that we’re going to get up to.”

“Yeah, but I sent that when I thought ‘whatever’ meant pizza and a video game marathon.”

“We’ve got all weekend for that. Tonight is about getting you to the ball.”

“Charles.”

“Dean.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if you can look me dead in the eye and honestly tell me you're not even the teensiest bit interested, I’ll back off.”

Dean ran the cloth over his face and fixed her with a hard stare, which Charlie met with an obstinately raised eyebrow. They could easily keep this staring contest up indefinitely, but she wasn't at all off base enough for him to come out the winner. He had been spinning his wheels when it came to dealing with his stubborn attraction to the owner of the neighboring business, and everyday it seemed more and more likely that the best way to make any progress at all would be to finally set foot in the club. She had him and she knew it.

“If,” Dean conceded, raising his index finger warningly, “ _if_ I agree to go to this thing, you gotta be cool.”

“Um, I'm always cool,” she countered.

“As in,” he clarified, “No half-cocked matchmaking schemes. We're just checking things out, we clear?”

“Interesting choice of words--” Dean’s lips pursed into a frown and Charlie held her hands up defensively.

“Ok, ok,” she said, “Enough with the grumpy dimples. I promise, no fairy godmothering. Now, you go get washed up so we can get this show on the road.” Dean sighed and started toward the bathroom, tossing the rag down on the hood of the car as he went.

“I don't even know what to wear to this thing,” he grumbled.

“I have a few thoughts!” his friend called after him a touch too brightly. No fairy godmothering his ass.

After about twenty minutes, most of which were spent dragging his feet, Dean emerged from the bathroom slightly less grime-covered than when he had entered, and the two of them made their way to the Impala. Another fifteen minutes and they were back at his apartment, splitting their downtime between pregaming with beer and leftover takeout, and debating what Dean should wear to the club. By the time 10:30 rolled around, Charlie had talked him into tight, dark wash jeans he didn’t remember owning, and a green button-down shirt that she swore brought out his eyes. A few cursory glances in the mirror told him she might have been on to something, but the effects of the outfit ultimately did little to quell the rising tide of doubts and even jitters that bubbled in his stomach once it came time to head out toward whatever vague adventure the evening promised.

It wasn't so much that he didn't want to finally get a look at the inside of Profound, and it definitely wasn't that he wanted to miss out on an opportunity for more one on one time with Castiel. All told, it was what could happen when that second meeting finally came that had him on edge. Something of his reactions this early on told him he was in way too deep to brush it off if other man caught on to the fact that he was way out of Dean’s league. Or, more likely and in keeping with relationships past, got one glimpse of his baggage and took off running.

“I don't know,” he sighed for about the millionth time as they crossed the building’s rear lot to return to his baby, “I feel like--”

“Like this is going to be great and you’ll thank me later?” Charlie supplied brightly.

“No,” he corrected, unlocking the car and lowering into the driver’s seat, “More like this is probably a big waste of time.”

Charlie frowned and plopped down onto the passenger half of the bench. “How do you figure?”

“The guy runs all the behind the scenes stuff. Chances are pretty slim that he’ll be out there mingling.”

“Or he will absolutely be mingling at this huge event for the club he owns, and then subsequently will be co-mingling. With you, in case that wasn't clear.”

“Alright, but what if--”

“Listen up, buster. You start this car this instant or I will erase your identity as you know it and build it back up with only the most embarrassing facts I can get my hands on.”

“Really? You're gonna go all CIA hacker on me? Over this?”

“Ha! The CIA wishes they could pull me out of the private sector. Now drive.” Dean let out a muted rumble of aggravation and reluctantly did as he was told, easing the Impala out of it's parking space and onto the street.

“Anyway,” he resumed after several moments of silence, still fumbling for an out, “I should probably be focusing on more pressing matters than--”

“Pressing your matter to your crush?” the redhead quipped, “Hardly.”

“What is it with you and the word play tonight?” he fired back, “But yes actually. Or did you forget Sam’s moving back into town? You remember my brother Sam, right? Moose attorney at law who's staying in my definitely not so moose-sized apartment until he can find a place of his own to live and practice said lawyering? I still need to get things ready for when he crash lands.” Of all his excuses, this was the flimsiest. Not only was Sam not coming back until next week, but he wasn't the goofy little kid Dean had to look after anymore. He was a grown man who would have his hands more than full trying to set up his legal practice and would likely be more than content to give Dean his space should this stupid night even make it past, well, one stupid night. He was very visibly grasping at straws here, a fact made plain by the latest scoff from his passenger.

“You're using your brother as an excuse to cock-block yourself?” she asked incredulously, “Come on, man! That's just sad.”

“No,” he protested weakly, “It's just… Priorities. Ya know?”

“Look, Dean. You already took the first, scary huge step out of the closet. All I'm asking is that you take a shot at the next, slightly smaller, slightly less scary step toward what sounds like a dreamy guy who really likes you.”

“Yeah, well maybe--huh.”

“Huh?” In lieu of response, he gestured toward the passenger window with his chin. At this point, they were about a block away from the club, and the line stretching out from it was almost the entire length of the adjacent sidewalk.

“Looks like we might’ve underestimated how many of those flyers went out,” he chuckled, “That next step might have to wait.” There was a kernel of disappointment buried in the wave of relief washing over him but he would easily cope later, and from the comfort of his couch.

“Well,” Charlie replied thoughtfully, “I can’t say I’m sad to see the community out in full force, but it’s definitely gonna make things a little trickier.”

“Yeah,” he tossed back confidently, “I guess ‘tricky’ is one word for not being able to get in and having to pack it in for the night.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” she chided, “Just park the car and let me do all the talking.”

“Alright, but I bet you all your meals between now and when you leave that we don’t even make it halfway through the line before they’re turning folks away.”

“Throw in all my junk food for the road trip home and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Your funeral, pal.” He parked the Impala at the end of the driveway beside his shop and stepped out into the cool September air, taking a steadying breath before his friend hurried to his side and began practically dragging him across the street.

“Remember,” Charlie cautioned as they came to stand before the club, “Let me do all the talking.”

“By all means,” he goaded, “Go forth and get us kicked to the back of the line like everyone else.” Charlie winked at him and unceremoniously dropped her hold on his arm to approach the employee stationed at Profound’s main entrance. Dean followed a few paces behind her, fighting against a wry smile at the notion of his friend sweet-talking the broad, clipboard-wielding doorman. Understandably, she had no game when it came to guys, and while her determination was usually astonishing, he was positive no measure of wanting to get Dean laid would prevent her from crashing and burning when it came to this stage of her plan.

“Hey there!” Charlie greeted, choosing her typical, bubbly demeanor over anything flirtatious.

“Back of the line,” the man said disinterestedly, eyes firmly glued to his clipboard.

“Hey, yeah!” Someone from the crowd beside him called out, “No cuts!”

“No worries, dude,” she continued, “I was just wondering what all this fuss is about. This some kinda concert?” So she was going for the play it dumb angle. Not all that believable for anyone acquainted with Charlie, but maybe not such a bad plan for a stranger. In any case, Dean was still pretty positive this wouldn't get them anywhere but a spot at the end of the line, but it was still an interesting tactic.

“Big club event,” he answered, turning to face the row of people and waving a pair of men clad in plastic-looking pants forward.

“Oh wow,” she exclaimed, giving the line an exaggerated appraisal, “like a ticketed thing, or…?”

“Either your name’s on the list or you're in the line,” the man droned, a sliver of agitation edging into his voice as he gave the set of hopeful entrants a critical once-over.

“And how does one get on said list?”

“If you ain't already on it, you don't. Period.”

“Not even if--” The doorman held up his hand to cut her off, finally shifting to look at her.

“If you're thinking about buying your way in, forget it,” he explained dryly, “I got specific instructions and we’re headed toward capacity. We done, or you wanna keep holding everyone else up with twenty questions?” Before Charlie could even answer, the man went back to completely ignoring her in favor of shooing away the couple with a terse 'Sorry fellas, better luck next time’ and gesturing the next group to step up.

“You heard the nice man, Charles,” Dean threw in, placing a hand on her shoulder “Come on. You gave it your best shot.”

“Alright, alright,” she said glumly, “You win this time, Winchester. But I'm not--”

“Did you say Winchester?” the doorman asked, turning his full attention back to them.

“Yes?” Charlie answered, voice pitching up with hopeful uncertainty

“ID,” the attendant requested, pointedly reaching toward Dean. Not bothering to hide his confusion, Dean frowned and pulled his wallet from his jacket, quickly flipping it open to display the transparent panel that held his driver’s license. The doorman leaned forward to examine the card and then glanced back down at his clipboard with a satisfied nod.

“Alright,” he concluded, stepping sideways to allow them access to Profound’s front doors, “Welcome, Mr. Winchester.”

“Hang on,” Dean coughed, “Are you saying I’m on the list?”

“Matter of fact,” the doorman explained, “You are the list.” He held the clipboard up so that it’s single page was pointing out, revealing Dean’s own name written in a hasty, underlined scrawl.

“Looks like you’re expected,” Charlie beamed slyly as Dean struggled to keep a blush from creeping up to something visible

“Yeah well,” he demurred, “That’s nice but, I came with a friend so--”

“Whatever you want, buddy,” the man interrupted, “VIPs call the shots, according to the boss.” Dean opened his mouth to further question the bizarre turn of events, only to be cut off by Charlie taking up his arm once again and tugging him to the entrance

“Thanks dude!” Charlie tossed over her shoulder.

“Literally my job,” he mumbled back, returning his very disinterested stare to the multitudes they had just cut in front of.  Charlie’s smile grew impossibly larger and with one final, and surprisingly strong yank, she pulled Dean through the entrance and into the club.

Castiel hadn’t been wrong when he had used the word ‘extravagant’ to describe his brother’s tastes. A towering, central chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, bathing the entire space in alternating beams of swirling, multi-colored lights that glinted off the brushed silver of the series railings that lined the building’s upper level, and the polished surfaces of dual bar countertops at opposite ends of the room. Dark curtains that glittered like stars hung at regular intervals along the walls, and across a main stage that currently hosted a pair of men breathing fire from hanging hoops. A DJ tucked behind a massive audio configuration stood on a balcony just left of the performance, feeding bass-heavy beats out over the crowd of patrons that jumped and gyrated before her on the packed dance floor.

“This is… A lot,” Charlie settled on, “But like, in an awesome way. You’re man sure knows how to throw down.”

“I have it on good authority this is more his brother’s handiwork,” Dean replied, raising his voice just below a shout to talk over the swell of music, “And Cas is not my man.”

“Are you crazy?” she called back, swaying in time with the rhythms, “He totally Gatsby’d you!”

“Gastby’d?”

“Yup. So, suck it up Daisy. We gotta go find the handsome host and hook you two up.”

“Yeah? Well good luck finding anyone in this mess. This place is a zoo.”

“More like a circus,” a voice to the right of him declared proudly. Dean tore his eyes away from the massive crowd and was met with the sight of Castiel’s smirking older brother.

“The ringmaster I presume?” Dean asked.

“You betcha,” Gabriel proclaimed, “Nice of you to join us here in the big top, Dean-o. Who’s your friend?” Nothing in the man’s demeanor suggested anything unfriendly, and yet Dean could swear he saw something cold flash through his face.

“Charlie,” his friend supplied, reaching past him to extend a hand to the club owner, “AKA the person who dragged Mr. VIP in here in the first place.”

“Is that right?” the shorter man queried, accepting the handshake with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” she returned, quirking her mouth into a conspiratorial twist, “He’s a real pain when it comes to putting himself out there.”

“Oh, so you two aren’t--”

“Bleh, no. I’ll admit he’s cute but he’s got all the wrong parts, if you know what I mean.”

“Hey!” Dean objected, “Right here guys. Like, actually between you.”

“Yes you are,” Gabriel agreed, any trace of steeliness banished from his expression as he stepped past him to sidle up beside the redhead, “Thanks to my new pal Charlie. Say, new pal, hows about I grab you a drink and introduce you to the DJ? Gilda’s quite a lady.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, shooting Dean a hesitant glance, “I mean I really came here for moral support.”

“Nonsense! Your boy is well in hand. Dean-o, sit tight, kay?” With that, he put his arm around her shoulders and began navigating them toward the nearest bar.

“Seriously?” Dean called after them, but they continued forward without a single backward look, giving him little choice but to alternately glare after them and the sea of people that they disappeared into. The sheer amount of bodies in the room was overwhelming, even with the small cushion of distance between him and most of the action. He had been to his share of parties in the past, but never any of this size or scope, and it made him a little more than tetchy to simultaneously feel both isolated and surrounded at the same time. All told, Dean figured he would be lucky to find Charlie again by the end of the night, let alone the man he may or may not have been searching the crowd for the moment he walked in.

Setting his jaw, he scanned the club yet again for any trace of a familiar face, haircut, anything, eventually coming up empty handed and finding himself in the way of a skittish looking young man with an almost overfull drink clutched in his hands.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, moving to skirt around him.

“Mr. Winchester?” the man called out, somehow sounding timid in spite of rising above the noises thrumming around them.

“Yeah?” he asked, pausing in his retreat to regard the newest stranger to have him at a disadvantage.

“I’m Samandriel and I’ll be your concierge for the night.”

“My what now?”

“Mr. Novak--Er, that is, the older Mr. Novak? He asked that I bring you this drink and show you to the VIP section.”

“Because of course he did.”

“If you’ll uh, just follow me please… Sir.” Without any further sputtering, the server handed him the drink and started toward the stairs leading to the upper levels, briefly twisting back toward him to silently urge him to follow. Relenting with a quick shrug, Dean followed up the steps and through slightly less dense mob to a roped off corner boasting a single table and chair.

“Here you are sir,” Samandriel announced, unhooking the cloth barrier and motioning for him to sit a gesture just shy of a flourish, “There’s a call button on the table, and I will be available to you for the duration of your visit. Will you, um, be needing anything else at the moment?”

“Nah, man” Dean returned, taking his seat and setting his glass down on the table, “I think I’m good. Confused as hell, but good.” The server blinked at him for a few beats and then hurried out of sight almost as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Dean alone to contemplate his drink and the increasingly baffling night he was having. He didn’t know enough about the Novaks to understand what was really going on, but even without Samadriel’s nervous confirmation he had more than a hunch that the entire guest of honor bit was, like the rest of the club, all Gabriel. What he couldn’t quite get any kind of handle on was why he had done it, not when he was being singled out and shuffled around without any sign of Profound’s blue-eyed co-owner. If this was really the kind of setup that Charlie thought it was, then where was Castiel?

Dean sighed, taking a tentative sip of the golden liquid in the glass his squirrely attendant had pressed into his hands, finding it equal parts tangy and sweet with a hint of spice and barely any notes of the alcohol that most assuredly lay beneath the flavoring. He wasn’t really one for mixed drinks, but whatever the hell it was wasn’t half bad. Smiling in spite of the strangeness of the evening, he went in for another, deeper pull of the mixture, allowing it to soften the edges of his awareness enough that he almost didn’t notice when the music and lights began to dim. Dean shifted in his seat to face the scene below him, where the conversations had melted into a low buzz of curious whispers and the lighting focused into a single spotlight on the now empty mainstage. Before long, Gabriel was mounting the stage with a microphone and a grin that seemed to stretch across his entire face.

“Hey there, beautiful people!” he beamed, “First and most importantly, I wanna thank you all for coming out to our first, but definitely not the last Bee Fierce Friday! Not to mention, the the debut of our signature drink, Angel’s Breath, made with honey from Profound’s own apiary!” He paused for a short wave of whoops and applause that rippled through the crowd.

“But,” Gabriel continued, raising a finger, “That’s not the only big thing happening tonight, oh no my friends. Tonight, we are also celebrating the birthday of my most favorite, not so kiddie kid brother! Ladies, gentlemen, everyone in between, I want you to give a warm welcome and a happy birthday to my bro, Angel of Thursday getting freaky on a Friday, Castiel!”  

Gabriel slid sideways just as the music started back up in earnest and curtains behind him split open to reveal four shirtless men carrying a throne with a stern looking Castiel perched on top of it. He was dressed almost exactly as he had been when he and Dean had last spoken, though somehow his hair was even messier, and the touch of annoyance that crossed his features managed to add to his previous allure. More than that, he had been harnessed into a pair of black wings that, while a likely source of the bulk of his agitation, made him appear ethereal and unreal. Almost unconsciously, Dean stood up and moved to the railing for a better look as the men paraded younger owner around the stage, each one stepping in time with the song. When they swiveled the throne around to face the corner that Dean was leaning out of, another spotlight beamed over him, ripping him out of his trance and drawing Castiel’s gaze to his own.

It was little more than an instant before the light wheeled away from him and joined the renewed swirling of a dozen others, but it was enough to soften Castiel’s expression and have him scrambling off the throne.

All earlier reluctance shoved to the sidelines, Dean stepped away from the railing and began making his way out of the scant VIP section to the main floor. By the time he made it back to ground level, Castiel was halfway to him, thankfully impossible to miss with an impressive fake wingspan flanking him on either shoulder. That said, the appendages in question appeared to be cumbersome enough to make the man’s trek through the crowd slow-going, leaving just enough time for Dean to try and collect himself into some pretense of coherence.

“Well aren't you just… Delicious,” a new voice threw in far too close to his ear. Dean jerked back and was greeted by the sight of a gangly, bearded man crowding into his space.

“Uh, sorry man,” Dean replied, “I’m…” He was what? With someone? That wasn't the case as of yet, even with the hope Castiel's approach inspired, and he didn't know if they were at the stage where faking a relationship for the sake of rejecting a creep would be alright. Peering around said creep, he did a quick check of the masses before him, only to discover Castiel had inexplicably dropped out of sight, wings and all.

“What you are is perfect,” the man went on, his voice oozing over him thickly as he stepped even closer, “from just about every angle. Although, I’d love to test that theory, the sooner the better.” He sneered lasciviously and Dean had to fight off a shiver of disgust. Any other time, he would have rolled his eyes and walked away, maybe even shoved the guy if the occasion really called for it, but there was something in this man's eyes, something predatory and dangerous, that gave him pause.

The unwelcome admirer began bending his head toward Dean's ear once more, only to be halted by a hand on his shoulder that spun him around to face a now wingless and stern looking Castiel.

“He's with me,” the blue-eyed man advised tersely, and the warning growl of his tone made Dean's breath catch. There had always been a thread of lust running through his crush on the club owner, but this side of him turned it into a live wire.

“My bad,” the stranger cooed almost mockingly, nevertheless slinking out of Dean’s space and the grip that had interrupted his advances. Castiel watched the offending patron melt back into the surrounding throng before turning a decidedly softer scrutiny to Dean.

“I hope I didn’t overstep in saying we were together,” he offered, “You appeared uncomfortable and I only meant to--”

“Hey, no,” Dean interrupted as evenly as he could, “I appreciate it. That guy was about as skeevy as they come. You’re my hero-- Or guardian angel even.” He allowed a small, hopeful smirk to play about his lips, earning an eye roll from the other man that seemed to encompass his entire body.

“I looked ridiculous,” Castiel called back, glancing over his shoulder with a frown, “I think being named after an angel is enough of a conversation piece without adding literal wings.”

“I don’t know,” he countered, dredging up the buzz from his drink for a touch of boldness, “I thought you were pulling it off just fine.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” Castiel replied somewhat proudly, “Pulled them off and tossed them behind the nearest bar.”

“Fair enough, I mean, it’s your party. A pretty epic one at that.”

“Don’t let Gabriel hear you, he’s already riding a virtual tsunami of self congratulatory smugness for the success of this event.”

“Yeah, well I might have to hand it to him a little bit. The crowd seems pretty good, the new drink is awesome, not to mention… “

“Not to mention…?” Dean smiled bashfully and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“I think,” he ventured, “He kinda set up the whole me being here thing-- Not that I didn't want to check out your club, it's just--” Castiel mumbled something and bobbed his head, briefly dropping his eyes to the floor.

“What?” Dean asked, stepping closer, solely for the purposes of hearing him better. Castiel took a deep breath and pursed his lips, apparently steeling himself for what he had to say.

“I said,” he asserted over the surrounding noise, “I know. About the getting you here part. I was… In on it, as Gabriel would put it.”

“In on it?” Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Can--can we go somewhere a little less loud? Where we can talk?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Does this place have somewhere like that?”

“Yes, somewhere you are already acquainted with, and entirely removed from all of this.”

“You sayin’ you wanna ditch your own party?”

“It’s not even my birthday until Monday. Follow me?” Castiel concluded the entreaty with a piercing stare that, in spite of the apprehension that tinged it, banished all possibility of Dean doing anything but what the man asked of him. In place of a verbal response, he nodded thickly and allowed himself to be led around the fringes of the crowd to a familiar corridor at the rear of the building. They ascended the stairs to the top of the building in silence, much as they had weeks ago, but with a far more charged, expectant energy hovering between them. When they reached the roof, Castiel guided him to a stone bench anchored to the concrete ground across from the hive they had built and an identical structure beside it. Apparently, their first project had inspired Castiel to tackle future projects on his own.

A chord of uncertainty sung through him over what this latest piece of information could mean when combined with all that was still unexplained. In spite of everything that spoke to the contrary, Dean couldn't bring himself to presume it meant anything good. Maybe both he and Gabriel had incorrectly read into his brother’s interest and Castiel had brought him somewhere isolated to let him down easy.

“You’ve been busy,” Dean observed as they sat, fighting to keep any hint of hurt from his voice, “and it looks like you figured out all the building well enough on your own.”

“Yes, well, I--" Castiel began haltingly, “I lied, Dean.”

“Huh?” he asked, all at once terribly confused.

“My uncle owns one of the largest apiaries in Missouri. I've been building hives and keeping bees almost as long as I could walk.

“Ok…”

“When I asked for your help, I absolutely required the tools you provided. But your presence was born of desire more than necessity.”

“So… The needing help building thing was… Made up?”

“For the most part, yes. Much like tonight was fabricated in the hopes that it would provide an opportunity to speak with you and… Gauge your interest.” Dean blinked at him for a handful of seconds before realization dawned on him and spread over his features.

“Son of a bitch!” he barked out in disbelief.

“I am truly sorry,” Castiel returned quickly, looking completely stricken, “I never intended to--”

“Oh, shit, no Cas,” Dean jumped in, angling himself toward the other man and raising his hands to stop any further apology, “I'm not mad, I swear. I just have a friend who's never gonna let me hear the end of this. She was convinced from the second we walked in that you’d uh… Gatsby'd me.” Castiel coughed out a short laugh and treated Dean to a gummy smile that he instantly decided was worth an eternity of Charlie's 'I told you so's,’

“Yes, well,” Castiel grinned, “Hopefully this will turn out a fair bit better than that particular romance. Provided, of course, my scheming hasn’t put you off entirely.”

“Not at all,” Dean replied, “But it might be less work if we just got our heads out of our asses and talked to each other like normal people.”

“Alright,” his host decided aloud, expression turning serious, “How about this? I have been attracted to you from the moment I saw you and greatly enjoyed our brief time together several weeks ago. I would very much like to begin seeing you romantically at your earliest convenience.” Dean's eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open with surprise.

“T-that was definitely more clear,” he stammered, “Like total 180 from before. Very effective.”

“Well,” Castiel reasoned, “I would argue that it's effectiveness largely depends upon your answer.”

“Right,” he agreed, “it's--it’s yes. You, me, seeing each other romantically. I'm in.”

“Really?” Dean nodded, eyes alternating between the man’s intense blue stare and his own lap.

“Really, Cas,” he insisted, “I mean, when you first came to the shop I'd already figured I was way, way out of my league even hoping you and I--” Castiel took hold of Dean's chin and gently commanded his full attention.

“In the interest of further clarity,” he put forth, “you are very much in my league, understood?” Dean nodded, physically biting back any audible response to the effect this sudden manhandling was having on him.

“Also,” Castiel added, mild tone directly conflicting with the gleam in his eyes, “if you keep drawing attention to your mouth, I'm going to have to kiss you.” Without thinking, Dean’s tongue darted his out from between his teeth and Castiel surged forward, crashing their lips together with all the fervor his gaze had promised. Dean’s arms rose reflexively, wrapping around the man’s waist and shoulders to draw them closer as Castiel’s own tongue began demanding deeper exploration of the wet heat it was already assailing. The mechanic granted the request with a groan he would have deemed thoroughly embarrassing, were it not for the mounting electricity sparking through him with each lick, bite, and deepening pressure. Before long, an unmistakable heat began pooling low in Dean’s abdomen, and he had to force himself to break the kiss for both air and self-preservation’s shake.

“Cas,” he huffed, “In the spirit of… What’d you call it?”

“Clarity?” Castiel suggested softly, ghosting his lips along Dean’s jaw.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “Yeah, that. If we keep going like this, I-I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop.” Castiel pulled back, the heat of his regard simmering into genuine concern.

“Did you want to stop?” he asked.

“Not really,” Dean chuckled, “But, I don’t want you to think that I’m, uh, easy. Or that this would just be some kind of quick and dirty, one-time thing.”

“I see,” Castiel mused, “And if I said, in all honesty, I would think none of those things of you and our budding relationship, and would be comfortable with however you chose to proceed?”

“Then I’d say we might need to find somewhere a little more private, the sooner the better.” The previously quelled fire reignited in Castiel’s eyes, and he pressed forward once again, this time bringing his lips to Dean’s ear.

“And how about if I added that,” he whispered, breath sending a shiver down his spine, “I have every intention of making things dirty, but by no means quick, should we in fact proceed?” Before Dean could answer, Castiel began pressing teasing kisses along his neck, forcing him to fight for any scrap of coherent thought.

“I’m sad to say,” Castiel continued between maddening pecks, “I don’t have anywhere remotely satisfactory. I’m sharing the apartment above the club with Gabriel for the time being, and there’s every chance of us being interrupted there. Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“S-s’ok,” Dean fumbled desperately, “I’ve got--uhn-- My place. My moose isn’t around to bother us yet.” Castiel sat back a second time, tilting his head and fixing him with a fondly puzzled look.

“Moose?” he repeated.

“Giant little brother,” Dean accomplished with a shake of his head, “Not an actual giant-- or an animal, although he is very-- aw hell, Cas. We gotta get out of here before my whole brain shuts down.”

“After you,” Castiel smirked, rising from the stone bench in one fluid motion. Dean hopped up a touch more clumsily and started toward the opposite side of the roof, making it as far as the door before a lapsed memory caught up with him.

“Shit,” he mumbled guiltily, digging his phone out of his jean’s pocket.

“Problem?” Castiel asked as he came to stand beside him.

“My friend” he explained, swiping at the device’s screen, “I don't wanna just bail without--” He stopped short as he glanced over the handful of texts greeted him.

 

_Hey! Where are you??_

 

_Never mind, saw your Romeo & Juliet moment with the birthday boy :DDD _

 

_Dean Winchester! You better not have left me to canoodle with your heavenly host!_

 

_Double never mind, Gabriel saw you two sneak off to the roof._

 

_Sooo… Looks like I’m ditching you for the DJ? Actually answer these texts if you object_

 

_Goodnight, Daisy ;)_

 

“Nevermind,” Dean shrugged, tucking the phone away, “Looks like she skipped out on me.”

“I suppose I owe her my thanks then,” Castiel concluded, reaching past him to pull open the door, “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel's Breath Recipe: https://www.americas-table.com/recipes/angels-breath


	3. Bee-tween the Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 90% smut with a dash of sibling trauma. Enjoy!

Castiel managed to keep his hands to himself for most of the short ride back to Dean’s apartment, minus one minor lapse in restraint where an ill-advised graze of the man’s inner thigh almost had him veering into oncoming traffic. He had by no means intended to risk their safety, but he found it almost impossible to resist the call of what was roiling between them. When he had given into his brother’s ostentatious scheming, he had at best hoped for more of the easy conversation he and Dean had enjoyed in their first encounter, maybe even an exchange of numbers. Straying this far beyond his expectations was a heady experience that was quite clearly overriding his rationality. However, if the mutually stilted attempts at small talk and shared glances were any indication, Castiel wasn’t the only one operating under a measure of libido-driven fog.

By the time Dean steered the car into a parking lot behind a broad, three storey building, they had lapsed into a breathy silence, and it was taking every scrap of Castiel’s limited restraint not to pounce on the other man right there in the front seat of his car. The walk across the blacktop and through the stairwell leading to Dean’s floor was similarly leaden, to the point where a fumbling of keys outside of the mechanic’s door was a bridge too far.

“Dean,” Castiel warned in a low rumble, pressing himself into his space as he struggled with the entryway, “If you can’t get us through this door in the next five seconds, I’m going to have to resume what we started on the roof right here in this hallway. And I can’t guarantee that I will be able to hold back.”

“Workin’ on it, Cas,” he grumbled, “I swear.” 

“Oh?” he posed, grazing his teeth over the Dean’s earlobe.

“S-shit!” Dean jabbed his key into the lock and practically slammed his way into the apartment, whirling around for a moment of triumph that Castiel immediately put a stop to by kicking the offending door closed and pinning him to the nearest wall for a tempestuous kiss. When a need for oxygen necessitated they break apart, he began simultaneously tasting his way down Dean’s throat and working to remove his shirt with impatient precision. As soon as the final button was unfastened, Castiel wrenched the offending article from Dean’s shoulders and pressed their bodies even closer, latching onto his newly exposed collarbone to begin sucking a mark onto it. Dean thrust against Castiel’s thigh, treating him to a welcome preview of the hardness trapped beneath his jeans.

“Fuck, Cas,” he keened, fisting his hands into the back of his shirt and rucking it up eagerly. “I-I want--” He cut himself off with an unchecked groan

“What do you want, Dean?” he urged, briefly pulling away to allow himself to be similarly undressed.

“Y-you,” he gasped as Castiel resumed his ministrations, “All over… Inside me.”

“Mm, that can certainly be arranged. Here?”

“Nn-no. Bedroom. Last--nnh-- last door down the hall behind you.” Gripping Dean’s hips, he spun them around to begin moving toward where he had hastily been directed, intermittently recapturing the mechanic’s lips in the process. After a surprisingly minimal amount of stumbling they arrived in the master bedroom and quickly tumbled to the bed, Dean flat on his back and Castiel pressing him deeper into the mattress. When they next surfaced for air, Castiel found himself marveling at the panting man beneath him, a tide of adoration overriding his more animalistic instincts and seeping out through his gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured fondly, “Every part and facet of you.”

“Cas,” Dean protested, shaking his head and lifting a hand to cover cheeks that were visibly reddening, even in the dark.

“I mean it,” Castiel argued, taking hold of his fingers and pressing his lips to their knuckles, “Let me show you how much.” Before Dean could protest any further, Castiel began mouthing down his body, paying special attention to each of his nipples and relishing the surprised yelps he managed to elicit. Once he came to his waistband he ceded control back to his primal urges, reaching under Dean to lift his hips and yank his jeans and boxers briefs down in one go, at last freeing his erection from the layers it had strained against.

Kneeling between the green-eyed man’s legs, Castiel used his knees to nudge Dean’s further apart, and then bent to brush his lips from the meat of his thighs to the base of his cock. The combination of the filthy, guttural moan Dean allowed to pass through his lips when he was finally swallowed up, and the first bitter taste of his precome quickly reminded Castiel of another aching hardness still caught beneath his own clothing. With an impassioned hum, he began sliding his mouth up and down Dean's length at a tortuously slow pace, all the while busying his hands with undoing his belt to achieve the state of undress his arousal demanded.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Dean babbled roughly, rolling his hips up to regain the moist heat he lost each time Castiel drew back, “Cas--! More. More of you.”

Castiel pulled off of him with a final swirl of his tongue and a wet pop. “Where do you keep--?”

“Night stand drawer,” Dean rasped, “Left one.” Castiel kicked himself free of his pants and climbed over him to the left side of the bed, purposefully grazing Dean’s balls along the way to draw forth a renewed string of curses. As he pulled the side table's door open to search for what they needed, Dean leaned sideways and began pressing kisses to his sides, his hands carefully inching downward to seek out a kind of retribution. His fingers were just beginning to sweep over the swollen head of Castiel's cock when he uncovered what he had been looking for and promptly returned to his position between Dean’s legs, playfully swatting the mechanic’s hand away from him.

“Turnabout's fair play,” Dean gloated through his partial recovery. Castiel pursed his lips thoughtfully, setting the condom down by their hips and snapping the lube’s cap open.

“Is that so?” he questioned, upending the bottle to coat his fingers, “And what about… Upping the ante?”

“Bring it, man,” Dean challenged, “All's faair--ah!” Castiel clamped his mouth around him again, and lowered his dripping fingers to the Dean’s rim, teasing around it in almost shy sweeps before inserting his index into the tight coil of muscles. Dean let out something halfway between a hiss and a whine, spurring Castiel to press and twist forward until he found the spot that had Dean arching of the bed with a cry that was nothing short of pornographic. Before long, he was adding another finger, and then another, scissoring them side to side and forcing Dean to war between thrusting into Castiel's mouth or fucking himself down onto the digits. Just as his pacing in either instance began to falter, Castiel pulled away entirely, earning a second, undeniably displeased whine 

“Cas,” he begged, writhing against the bedspread as he watched him reclaim and tear open the square packet bedside them, “I want--I need you, inside. Wanna feel you.”

“I know,” Castiel cooed, rolling the condom on and slicking himself with more lube, “Just a little longer. All's fair, after all.”

“You monster,” he gasped, eyes widening in only partially feigned horror. Castiel chuckled deviously and took hold of Dean's thighs to pull them apart even wider.

“You just wait,” he promised, lining himself up to the hole he had so carefully prepared, “Are you ready?” Dean nodded and without another word he pushed inside, burying himself in tight heat amidst a chorus of their mingled groans. He paused once he had bottomed out, giving Dean a chance to adjust to this latest stretch, and taking a moment of his own to drink in the sight of him, flushed red and coated in glistening sweat.

“Beautiful,” he repeated, leaning forward to cage Dean’s head between his forearms.

“Please,” the other man choked out, tightening his well-muscled legs around his waist, “please move, Cas. Fuck me.” He punctuated the request by wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a frenzied kiss that blew apart the last of Castiel's restraint. Growling, he gave into all Dean asked, sliding in and out of him with measured strokes that rapidly sped up and intensified. Dean gripped him even tighter with all of his limbs, melding curses with praise, and every piece of him was on felt like it was on fire, burning hotter and hotter the longer they slid against one another. It had never been like this for him before, and he was certain that nothing less would ever be enough again. Nothing else but Dean.

“Mm,” Castiel grunted between kisses and thrusts, “So good, Dean. “So tight and perfect.”

“‘m getting close,” he gasped, breath ragged,  “Not gonna last much longer.” Moaning both his understanding and agreement, Castiel increased his pace, driving relentlessly into the bundle of nerves at Dean’s deepest point and swallowing down sounds of his pleasure with increasing ferocity. When he felt himself nearing his own inevitable climax, he reached down and took hold of Dean’s neglected cock, managing only a few quick twists before the man was howling through his release and dragging Castiel over the edge with a series of wild clenches. They continued to cling together for a few moments more, riding their individual aftershocks in breathy silence before Castiel pressed several soft kisses to Dean’s forehead and carefully slipped out of him to roll onto his back.

“S-so,” Dean exhaled heavily, “What you said on the roof… You still mean that?”

“Huh?” Castiel heaved back, twisting to face him.

“About, still wanting to go out?” he pressed, shifting to return his gaze almost shyly, “After… Well, all this?” The realization that the man was still visibly nervous about his worthiness, after all that had just passed between them, had Castiel’s heart all at once melting and breaking. Ignoring the protest of his overtaxed muscles, he reached out and pulled Dean against his chest.

“Without doubt or question,” he affirmed, kissing the top of his head, “I haven't done a great job of showing it, but my interest in you does not end in the physical.”

“Oh,” Dean accepted mildly, most of the tension easing from his shoulders, “Cool. That's--But, I mean, it was good too, right? The sex? You’d wanna, you know, do it again?”

“Absolutely,” he returned, lips stretching onto a grin, “As often as you will let me.” With that, he felt Dean fully relax into the embrace.

“Awesome,” he sighed, “But, not--not like right now, right? A guy needs a little time to recover, ya know?”

Castiel barked out a short laugh and shook his head.

“I think I am both perfectly content and exhausted,” he chuckled, “At this point, I'd like nothing more than to clean up and fall asleep holding you-- Provided that's alright.”

“Better than alright,” Dean agreed, “Minus the part where you have to get up and grab the towels.”

“That is terribly unfortunate, yes.” Reluctantly, Castiel let go of him and returned to the open bedside drawer to fish out a sleeve of wet wipes he had come across earlier. Once they were each relatively tidied, they slipped beneath a comforter they had nearly kicked off the bed and settled back against one another.

“Hey Cas?” Dean muttered sleepily.

“Yes, Dean?” he replied softly, tracing circles into his bicep.

“Thanks for Gatsby-ing me,” he yawned.

“My pleasure, Dean. Though, we may owe some of that gratitude to Gabriel.”

“I won’t … tell... If you won't.” Castiel laughed again as Dean's words fell away to steady even breathing, unquestionably signaling his descent into sleep. Fading into his own easy slumber, Castiel’s last thoughts were of how nothing in his brother's impressively obnoxious arsenal could ever outweigh what he had helped his to gain that night.

  
  


* * *

 

Dean awoke the next morning with an arm slung over his waist and a, by now, very familiar erection pressed into the cleft of his ass. Eyes still closed, he shimmied backward experimentally and was rewarded with a pleased, breathy moan against his back.

“Well good morning to you too,” he greeted.

“Very good morning,” Castiel corrected, nipping at the back of his neck and lowering his hand to Dean’s own half hard cock. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, “A guy could get used to this kind of wakeup call.” 

“I certainly hope not. I rather enjoy keeping you on your toes. So to speak.” At this, Castiel began stroking him in time with his own shallow thrusts. Dean groaned into his pillow, earning a second bite and admonishing huff from the man behind him.

“I want to hear you,” he scolded, “Nice and loud.” Dean nodded, turning his face outward to let loose an obscene and unbridled cry.

“Holy shit!” a familiar voice responded, “Sorry! I--Shit! Sorry!” Dean’s eyes snapped open just in time to see his younger brother fleeing from his open bedroom door and back down the hall. 

“Sammy?” he exclaimed, bolting upright with a mortified glare, “What the hell, dude?!”

“I was gonna surprise you!” Sam called back from somewhere in the living room, “So, uh… Surprise I guess?”

“Who is that?” Castiel asked curiously, leaning against him with his hand still wrapped around his rapidly softening dick.  

“Hey!” Sam answered, “I--I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. Also, I’m really, really, sorry.”

“The moose!” Castiel recalled brightly, “Nice to meet you!”

“Nope,” Dean halted, carefully extricating himself from Castiel’s grip and climbing out of bed, “This is not happening. Not like this. Sam, you’re gonna stay right where you are and I’m gonna lock you out so we can--” The sound of the front door opening cut him off, followed by Charlie’s unmistakable squeal. 

“Sam!” she chirped, “Welcome back buddy! You’re early right?”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, almost too quietly to hear, “I--”

“Is your big bro around?” she broke in, voice and footsteps drifting closer, “I kinda ditched him last night when I should have been playing wing-man…” 

“Charlie, hang on!”

“Do not come in here!” Dean bellowed, rushing toward the door. Clearly baited by the vehemence of his outcry, Charlie quickly darted around the corner of the hallway, managing to catch a glimpse of Castiel and more than an eyeful of Dean before he slammed the door shut. 

“Ha! Boom!” Charlie crowed from outside, “Every I told you so ever, times infinity! Also, hi Gatsby!”

“Hello,” Castiel returned good-naturedly, waving at the closed door.

“Great,” Dean snarked, “You’ve introduced yourself. Now can you please go away?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie shot back, sounding farther off, “Get it together and put some pants on. I expect you both out here to fully spill all the details about how right I was within the next five minutes.” Dean rolled his eyes and moved back to the bed, collapsing onto it face-down with an irritable sigh.

“They seem nice,” Castiel offered, caressing his back in consolation.

“They are,” Dean confessed, “But also the worst. Like, ever. Maybe we should have stayed at your place after all. “ 

“Believe me,” Castiel cautioned, “Gabriel would have been just as bad, if not worse.”

“Are those two really who we have to thank for this? For us?” Dean stilled, eyes widening at his careless use of the pronoun. Last night had been incredible, and more reward than he had ever imagined for what had initially seemed like a risky leap of faith, but that didn’t mean he was completely out of the woods. Castiel was a good guy, one who apparently liked him a lot, but even the kindest person had a right to be put off by someone jumping the gun and coming off clingy less than 12 hours after things had gotten started. Dean lifted his head to address Castiel, apologize even, expecting far worse things than the affectionate grin the man was sporting. 

“Us,” he echoed, falling back against the pillows, “I like that very much.”

“Yeah?”  Dean queried softly, dragging himself closer.

“Yes. And as for who we have to thank, we could always chalk it up to the bees.”

“I think I can get behind that.” 

“Speaking of getting behind, do we really have to be up and dressed in five minutes? I had decidedly different plans for you this morning.” He fixed him with a pointedly heated look and Dean’s decision was made.

“Screw ‘em,” he proclaimed, rolling over and backing into Castiel to resume the positions they had awakened in.

“I would much rather keep the screwing between you and I,” Castiel deadpanned, hand ghosting down his stomach, “If you don’t mind.”

“Amen,” Dean agreed, “And thank you bees.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! At least for now anyway (I have toyed around with doing a series but I haven't got anything solid yet). Thanks for reading, sorry for the terrible bee puns, and please come say hello on Tumblr (@blazeeblake) :)

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr (@blazeeblake


End file.
